The Legacy of Hester Prynne
by AStormIsBrewing
Summary: Pre and Post DoBS. There is a secret guilt borne in every heart, for crimes real or imagined. They must forgive themselves before they can even consider the possibility from anyone else.


Disclaimer : Love him, hate him, cook him, eat him. Nickelodeon owns Zuko and his enemies and compatriots of Avatar : The Last Airbender. I, however, own the recipe. The Poem is owned by James B.V. Thomson, and all other poetry is pwned by it.

This has less to do with The Scarlet Letter than you may think. The book is an Allegory for Zutara, I swear, but in the psychological factors, not the actual plotline(I'm not suggesting they have little steam babies hidden somewhere, oh, no). Everyone has their secret guilt, so this is between more than just Zuko and Katara.

I should also point out this was written for the most part before I saw 'The Western Air Temple,' and likewise . . . I'm both disappointed and impressed. Katara actually said a few things that sort of pointed in the direction I'm headed with this, but it's too late. I should have posted it sooner.

I'm not exactly up to writing a Zutara Scarlet Letter at the moment, but if anyone else would like to, be my guest.

_**Warning for shippers**_ **Maiko** for sure, **Zutara** and **Kataang** if you squint (Here the Authoress would demand that you squint). As much of a Zutarian as I am, I don't feel guilty writing Maiko. It's a means to and end, and some things are just so priceless. Anyways, I'm of the opinion that we all have Mai to thank for Zuko not going insane.

* * *

**The Legacy of Hester Prynne**

**Part One : The Interior of a Heart**

* * *

_Once in a saintly passion_

_I cried with desperate grief,_

'_Oh lord, my heart is black with guile,_

_Of sinners I am chief.'_

* * *

Aang didn't need healing anymore, and for that, Katara was grateful. Yes, the Avatar was healthy, and would be recovered enough in body to face the Fire Lord, if this Waterbender had any skill to speak of. 

But during all that time Aang was unconscious, Katara had to stare at that scar, watching it slowly fade from a dismal scab that would crack and bleed no matter how gentle her ministrations, to a great, knotted splotch snapping the arrow on Aang's back in two.

And in all this time, she could see another scar, on another boy, and she knew what it meant to hate.

It wasn't always for _him_ — Katara refused to even think _his_ name, and she would have purged _his_ image from her mind if she could have — but _his_ face always dragged unwanted emotions from the hidden depths and into a place where Katara would be forced to confront them.

A mark of shame . . . she thought the bitterness was befitting now that she knew what _he_ meant. Every time she saw Aang's scar, she was reminded of her mistake and what it had cost him, and possibly the world.

If she had been a better healer, if she had gotten there faster_, if she hadn't been so naive and trusting . . ._

Guilt had been gnawing away at her heart for so long now that she was quite certain that the emptiness she felt there was real, and if she were to have the courage to look, there would be a hole in her back identical to Aang's, only hers would remain inflamed and bleeding. There was no one to heal the healer.

Before long, even looking at her friend became agonizing, but hiding it — that was easy. She did what she had done since she was little; point and blame something else.

The worst part was, Katara couldn't hate _him_ for it. She tried, and whenever 'that jerkwad' was even possibly alluded to in a conversation, she put up a very convincing argument for it. Oh, she was angry and she was bitter and when it came to the invasion, she called first dibs, but through the long hours she had spent alone, keeping Aang alive, she came to a sort of unspoken agreement with her subconscious; it was all her fault.

It was something she had done, or failed to do, that lead to the disastrous encounter with Azula underneath the city of Ba Sing Se. She was more angry with herself for letting _him_ get so close, for letting _him_ hurt her this badly. She had known Z– jerkwad was a bag of scum. She should have known better.

Aang never thought anything less of her, no matter how many times she cried 'It's all my fault.' That just made the pain almost unendurable. _I don't deserve it!_ she wanted to scream._ I don't deserve what faith you have in me. Can't you see what I've done?!_ There could be nothing worthwhile left in her companionship or her bending, both proven to be woefully inadequate when tested.

So very slowly, the emblem of hope for the world very quickly became for Katara a monument to hatred, and that was another cause for guilt.

* * *

Nowadays life for Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, all honor and titles restored, was about the same as walking through a fevered dream. The burning flesh, the constant restlessness, the drive, the need, the _hunger_ to do anything, _anything_ but continue on this current course; it consumed his mind and tore away at his insides like a carrion-bird drawn by the scent of his decaying sanity. 

It had never been there before his banishment, and had only made itself known late at night when stealing the sleep from him, or during his bending practice when he should have been more focused. For months (years, maybe, for the days all bled together until time ceased to exist between his banishment and his discovery of the Avatar) it had stolen his appetite and sapped his strength, until his Uncle had made some lame excuse, or they had found some new lead on the ever-elusive Avatar.

And at every mention of either of those great constants in his bitter existence, his gut would tie itself in knots. Early, early on, it had almost brought on bouts of vomiting, which he naturally attributed to seasickness. A thin excuse for someone who had lived on a ship for as long as he had, but his mind believed it, and that was really all that mattered. The alternative was unmentionable.

The excuse probably would not have lasted as long as it did if it had not been for Mai. Compared to the maelstrom of emotions warring within him, Mai's cold apathy was the relief he had so desperately needed in those first few days after they had secured the city. A wet rag to a body wracked by fever, she had smoothed away the ruffled edges which Azula didn't have the compassion to, and did what she could to dispel his doubts. And it had worked.

It didn't matter if all she could really offer was an 'I don't hate you.' She would give it to him, even when he didn't deserve that tiny reassurance, and pretending to be worthy of accepting it brought about a new kind of pain.

It was through this guilt, maybe, that he was becoming more and more resistant to any sort of healing for the wounds that had lain open all the years of his banishment. It was through no design of his; the thought of having to face both Azula and his father on his own under any circumstances was terrifying. It was just that, no matter how he tried to close the distance, it only grew greater, and Mai slipped further and further away.

Standing alone in the darkness, the last of his lifelines long gone, may have prompted him to act as he did. He had always been impulsive and headstrong and reckless, and sometimes downright stupid, so stealing a balloon and going on an Avatar hunt was hardly worth mentioning. He wasn't exactly sure what he would do once he caught up to the Avatar's party, but given their presumptive animosity, it didn't bear thinking about. It wasn't exactly his strong suit, anyways.

* * *

_Then stooped my guardian angel_

_And whispered from behind,_

'_Vanity, my little friend,_

_You're nothing of the kind.'_

Zuko had been her mistake, so very early on, Katara had taken it upon herself to watch him for any signs of betrayal. She sat up at night and slept during the day, mending clothes or practicing waterbending — an open threat, let the prince think what he would.

It had taken the better part of two days of posturing and over-inflating her ego to work up the courage (and gall) to actually speak to him. It was evening, and everyone had gone off to explore the ruins; everyone except Zuko, who was still barely part of the team, and Katara, wandering in a cold rage.

"I hate you, you know." It was real, this time, more than the disconnected hate of a random enemy, a faceless entity never really known. It burned even as it froze, a slow, smouldering chill that drove away any sort of pity or compassion. Katara was honestly disgusted with herself and with the whole business, but she had built up a resistance to her conscience's constant nagging, and it seemed to be conveniently on vacation for the duration of this argument.

Zuko seemed to sense the change. "I know." Once more, maybe just to convince himself. "I know."

She could have taken the prideful, unrepentant, evil mongrel any day. Stupid Zuko was just as easy to deal with; a good kick in the teeth would suffice for any need to communicate between the two enemies. But this passive Zuko had only made himself known once, and only before . . . .

Anger was back, and the door was slammed on Katara's conscience, she hoped once and for all. "Whatever you're planning isn't going to work. There's no way you're going to be able to send a message to your crazy sister, and there's no way she can track us. All your little plots are doomed. The Fire Nation is going to lose this war."

Zuko realized bringing up the fact that they had just lost a very decisive battle was not a good idea. "I know."

"So what? You just switch sides every time you think you're on the losing side?"

"Note that I never promised _you_ anything." He turned onto his side, his back to the waterbender. "You wouldn't understand."

Now that incensed Katara more than anything else. "What, the fact that you're a spoiled Prince? What about your uncle?! He was your family, and you have to admit, the way you treated him was totally heartless."

"I know what I did, okay?!" The old Zuko seemed to be trying to make an appearance, at war with the new and screaming at her through the thin hiding place offered by his bedroll. "Azula, the Fire Lord, they're my family, too! It's like you said; I'm a spoiled prince, and I can't even tell the difference between right and wrong anymore! It doesn't matter if there is one, because I can't make the right decisions, anyways."

Katara gently massaged her temples, sending mental death-notes to her conscience. "Say for a moment you did come here with the sincere desire to help. Why?"

"I know what makes me feel slightly less like dying than anything else." Zuko couldn't not look at her any more, so he slowly turned back to the irate waterbender. "You still have purpose, and a family that actually cares. I would consider envy an improvement upon hopelessness."

Katara had missed out on a good portion of the monologue, the gears in her mind slipping and sticking while she tried to process what Zuko had said. "You think . . . we have _purpose_?"

"You have the Avatar. He has a purpose."

"Look around you!" Katara managed to force past her disbelief. "We're a bunch of kids, short an army, allies, and any sort of hope! All we have left now is some blind faith in a masochistic, self-absorbed , chronically indecisive dullard who's already been proven to be faithless!"

Zuko's hand went up to touch his scar. "You think I'm masochistic?"

"I think your guilt in joining us is totally unfounded, since you practically _begged_ to in the first place."

The on-again off-again villain bristled. "Who says I feel guilty about it?"

"Your every word and action, and Toph. She's good at that sort of thing."

"So being an earthbender automatically makes her able to read minds?"

"So being a firebender automatically makes you a jerk?" Katara's glare was more even now; the tempest had settled out. "You say you know what you did, and that you know it was horrible, but that's even worse! What happens if you keep doing those things, even if you know they're wrong?"

"But it won't! I told you, I have changed! I know what mistakes I made, and now I'm going to fix them!"

Katara looked down at her hands, clenched in her clothes through her effort at restraint. "You said you changed, then and now. But you haven't. You'll keep doing what you think is right, without a thought to what effect your choices might have on anyone else." She stood up, certain she could not stand another moment with the prince. "You aren't the only person here who failed to live up to the standards set by someone important to you, and being a jerkwad about it doesn't make you special."

"Let me guess. It makes me a jerk."

"You really are perceptive. Just make sure you keep it that way."

* * *

So in the end, who is the guardian angel? 


End file.
